


Drowned Dignity

by Tiofrean



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: A bit of drama, Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Helping, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Secrets, Smut, Tattoos, The Black Pearl - Freeform, The Dauntless, Tripoli - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiofrean/pseuds/Tiofrean
Summary: Norrington had been at his tail for the whole voyage to Tripoli and it had come as no surprise that he had been caught in the hurricane, too. The Pearl was a lot lighter and easier to maneuver than Norrington’s heavy lady, however, and where Jack had slipped right through, the Dauntless had been gripped by currents and immobilized by winds ripping the sails to shreds. Jack had seen the destruction from afar, had watched the masts break and fall into the sea. When the hull hit the black line of rocks, Jack had no illusions as to the fate of the Royal Navy’s best ship.
Relationships: James Norrington/Jack Sparrow
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Drowned Dignity

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a brainwave about tattoos... so yeah. I hope you'll enjoy! <3

“It’s bad luck, Jack, I’m tellin’ ye,” Gibbs reminded him yet again, which the captain chose to ignore… _yet again._

The water was settling down once more, the waves no longer trying to take them under, and Jack leaned over the railing, attempting to spot people bobbing between the debris free-floating on the surface. The storm, dragging behind the hurricane, was still raging in the distance, but with the wind now blowing it away, it was no longer concerning.  
“Capt’n,” Gibbs appeared at his side, his voice taking on the quality Jack had come to think of as _the doomsday prophet_ _._ It was amusing usually, insightful on a few occasions, but today… today it irritated the living daylights out of everyone.   
“We cannot leave them like that, can we?” Jack asked harshly, tilting his head and pointing to the sad remains of the Dauntless thud-thud-thudding against their hull. 

The Pearl had been very lucky to get through the storm mostly unscathed, the brave girl that she was, and they expected that the few repairs they had to make wouldn’t take more than a week in one of the friendlier ports. The Dauntless, however… Jack cringed, watching timber float around lifelessly, shattered into tiny parts and single planks. 

Norrington had been at his tail for the whole voyage to Tripoli and it had come as no surprise that he had been caught in the hurricane, too. The Pearl was a lot lighter and easier to maneuver than Norrington’s heavy lady, however, and where Jack had slipped right through, the Dauntless had been gripped by currents and immobilized by winds ripping the sails to shreds. Jack had seen the destruction from afar, had watched the masts break and fall into the sea. When the hull hit the black line of rocks, Jack had no illusions as to the fate of the Royal Navy’s best ship. 

The Pearl shuddered under his feet, and he brushed his fingers delicately over the wooden railing.   
“Hush now, girl,” he soothed, words a low murmur. “Nice and easy.” Then, turning to Gibbs, “reef the sails, ready the lines and dig out blankets ! Some of them must have survived.”   
“Aye, aye,” Gibbs answered, walking away, relaying orders and snapping everyone’s attention back to work. The ship slowed down to a crawl, the timber settling with a soft sigh.   
“There you go,” Jack smiled, patting the railing placatingly. “Easy does it, darling.” 

They sailed through the fragmented remains, all of them keeping an eye out, until Marty gave a shout, pointing frantically at something over the starboard, and Jack followed the direction with his gaze. _There!_ A little to the left of a rather huge chunk of the Dauntless’ bow, a dark shape floated, pale hands gripping a plank of wood tightly.   
“Get the cockboat in the water!” He barked out, watching over the proceedings. The crew moved quickly, thankfully, and in no time at all, they had the first half-drowned redcoat safely on the deck. 

“Man overboard!” Pintel screamed, followed by a few other shouts, and soon, two dozen wet sea-rats were huddled against the Pearl’s rails in various states of consciousness, teeth chattering and bodies shaking. Jack eyed them, trying to find some familiar faces. There was one - a young lieutenant with a rather royal pedigree, at least going by his looks alone. Jack remembered him from Port Royal, and later on, from Isla de Muerta. 

“Mister Gibbs,” he called, his quartermaster materializing next to him in a matter of seconds.   
“Capt’n?”   
“Get them below deck, dry them and see if there’s any rum to spare. Any injured, take them to Jonesie.” He moved along the sailors, scrutinizing them. Most of them were just common marines with one or two officers thrown in, including the lieutenant, who was watching Jack warily, his usual glare replaced by suspicion. The captain raised his eyebrows inquiringly but, before he could question the lad, another shout resounded, this one from Anamaria.   
“Jack! Look!” 

Dragging his gaze after her pointing finger, Jack froze. Nobody else but Commodore Norrington himself was there, soaked to the bone, one arm clutching a piece of flotsam in a death grip, the other wrapped around an unconscious man. Jack cursed, turned around and looked for another line to throw. 

Between his men, they had James heaved up and onto the deck in no time, a spluttering and gasping mess of wet clothes and soggy, wig-less hair. He looked exhausted, his eyes jumping between the Pearl’s crew and his own marines, assessing the situation uneasily. The man he had saved had been pulled up right before him, and was now lying limply not a foot away from him. Norrington’s expression remained carefully blank, but under the facade, a careful eye could make out traces of fear and that stubborn determination that usually propelled the commodore forward. 

Jack winced. “Give the man a blanket already, and take this one below,” he urged, pointing at the unconscious fellow, enjoying the surprise that somehow slipped through James’ careful mask.  
“Aye, capt’n,” Anamaria answered, stomping off. She wasn’t really happy about the proceedings, but she was still the first mate, not the captain. Jack grinned, glancing at Norrington.   
“You look bloody awful, commodore,” he chirped, offering a hand. “Truce?” 

Gritting his teeth, James took it, letting the captain hoist him up. The movement made his clothes ride high, his undershirt - untucked by the waves - pulled up, and he shivered in the wind, the breeze cold right after the monstrous storm. Soon enough, a blanket was thrown over his shoulders, and he let himself be cocooned inside it gratefully, nodding appreciatively.   
“Thank you,” he murmured, teeth chattering, then realized that Sparrow was still holding his hand, watching him avidly. The kohled eyes were not focused on James’ face, however, but on his middle, the hawk-like gaze positively glued to his rumpled clothing.   
“We’re gonna have so much fun, _commodore.”_ Jack leered, positively _leered at him,_ then twirled around to give orders. 

Norrington, suspicious and a bit shaken, let himself be hoarded into a cabin, belatedly realizing it was Sparrow’s. 

-&-

Jack smirked, watching James being led into the captain’s quarters, looking for all the world like a half-drowned cat. It had been a good idea indeed to help the commodore and his red-coated minions, at least going by Jack’s recent discovery. 

He had always considered Norrington to be one of the best officers the Governor’s sad lot could hope for, especially in the middle of the Caribbean Sea - proper and abiding his common sense more than the rules imposed on him from above, James was a man of honor and class. It was no surprise, then, that he had caught Jack’s attention from the very start. 

Now, though… Now Jack’s curiosity was picked, and not by James’ professional attitude. When he had been thrown onboard, all soggy wet and charming in his gratitude-tinged fear, Jack couldn’t help but notice a small detail that would have been otherwise obscured from view. Between the folds of Norrington’s rumpled clothing, stark against his pale skin, a smudge of dark ink could be seen, right over the waistband at his left hip. The unexpected revelation had been covered soon enough, swathed in layers of warm blanket, but the captain’s mind had started to work overtime. He had ordered the man to be escorted to his own quarters, hoping it would have a softening effect on the dear commodore, while he went about his business, adjusting their course and making sure the ship would stay safely out of the hurricane’s range. 

-&-

It was almost an hour later when Jack finally swaggered into his cabin, a bottle of wine in one hand, a tray of food in the other. He had asked the cook to put together a supper fit for a king, and Thomas delivered - as much as he was able to with their provisions low after the long voyage. They needed to port in Tripoli if they didn’t want to starve their way through the next fortnight, but for now, Jack was happy to have some pickles and salted pork to woo the commodore with, and a few bites of freshly-baked bread tucked in right beside various cheeses and some butter. How on earth did Thomas manage to make cheese _and_ butter with two skinny goats was anybody’s guess, but the captain was too happy with it to go sniffing around. On a whim, Jack had thrown in two juicy oranges onto the tray, and here he was at last, inside his own cabin, looking right into stormy green eyes. 

“James,” he greeted with a grin, to which the man responded with a scowl.   
_“Commodore,”_ he stressed, then seemed to remember his position - currently in Jack’s favorite chair - and glanced down, looking a bit like a chastised boy.   
“Commodore James,” Jack went on, taking him in. The clothes were still wet, clinging to the poor bugger, cold and undoubtedly uncomfortable. He placed the bottle and the tray on a small table his cabin housed, then turned to a large chest, rummaging through it until he found a clean shirt and a pair of breeches. They would probably be too short for James, but dry clothes were nothing to scoff at after almost-dying in a hurricane, ay?   
“Here,” he said, handing the garments out, observing with satisfaction as Norrington’s expression changed to surprise. He took the offered clothes, blinking stupidly at the pirate. A beat of silence, and then-

“Where are my men?”   
“Don’t you worry about them, they are all fine… well, the ones we could find, anyway,” Jack mused, frowning, remembering the many unresponsive bodies they had checked earlier. “They’re in the cannon deck, under a watchful eye of me crew, fed and drying as we speak.”   
“Thank you,” James murmured, nodding curtly, and the captain couldn’t resist a smile.   
“‘S what you do in a storm, eh? Help each other.”   
“I didn’t expect help from a pirate I wished to hang,” the commodore went on, his frown deepening.   
“I like the usage of the past tense, mate,” Jack answered with glee, then sat down in the second chair, plucking a piece of pork from the tray, biting into it. James spluttered. “Admit it, you’re warming up to me!” The captain exclaimed cheerfully, then paused, his face thoughtful. “Or you would, if you changed out of your soaked clothes.” 

James jerked his head up sharply, staring at him. From Jack’s mad leer, it was clear he was not going anywhere, sprawled as he was in the other chair.   
“You wish me to undress _here?”_   
“You can go outside, if it pleases you,” the pirate replied nonchalantly. “I doubt it would be such a good idea, though. Me crew still remembers yer brilliant plans about hanging the lot of us.” He shrugged, then continued on eating the meat. James eyed it, sighed, and stood up, turning around. He knew well that showing his back to that scallywag was not his brightest idea, but logic overthrew his training. _If Jack had wanted him dead, he surely wouldn’t have pulled him out of the water._

He started undoing the buttons on his shirt, gaze stuck in the wooden wall of the cabin right behind Sparrow’s cot, before he thought better of it and inclined himself just so, turning slightly to the right, keeping the pirate within his sight. Jack watched his progress with uninhibited glee, a fact James noted with a strange shiver running down his spine. It wasn’t quite fear and it wasn’t exactly unpleasant, and before he figured out what it was _exactly,_ he was already in fresh clothes, a bit too short, but soft and rather on the thick side. 

The changing made his side throb painfully, but he gritted his teeth - it was only a bruise probably, nothing more threatening, but with his body slowly warming up, the feeling in his extremities started to return, and there was no denying that his ribs were protesting every sudden move. Resolutely, James opted for moving as little as possible.

When he turned to the table once again, Jack was regarding him with something akin to disappointment, and James couldn’t help a little pang of worry that spread through him, before he reined it in sharply, reminding himself that this here was a pirate. _An enemy._ A very attractive and handsome enemy, but an enemy nevertheless. 

Ah, _yes,_ James was not blind, you see. He often appreciated the finer things in life, even if he had never indulged in them... _overmuch._ A fine bottle of bourbon, a beautiful woman at his arm, a graceful ship, a handsome lieutenant when he had been at sea for too long… Well, he had never had a cabin boy in his life, not in any sense of the word, the sole idea of what other captains were doing repulsing him from the get go. But Groves had been more than willing those few times. Enthusiastic even. And it had never hurt to have a warm body to cuddle to at night, especially in the midst of a raging storm. He might be a soldier in His Majesty’s Navy, but he wasn’t made of stone. _Few men were, to tell the truth._ With a slow blink, James looked around the cabin, trying to discern whether it was only Sparrow’s or if it was shared with someone… someone else than himself right now, that was. 

And then he berated himself for even entertaining this particular thought, biting his lip and looking down at the table. He took the chair he had previously vacated and helped himself to a bite of cheese, surprised at its quality. Clearly, the Captain of the Black Pearl also appreciated finer things in life… 

“Thomas,” Jack said, his lips once more smirking. At James’ confused frown, he elaborated, waving his hand at the tray between them. “Our cook. Handy with soups and vegetables, but cheese is his forte. I’ve no idea how he does it, but he magics up cheese like our own fairy godmother. And that only with two scrawny goats!” He exclaimed, barking out a laugh, then grabbed a bottle of rum from a crate pushed into a small alcove created between two sea chests.

He seemed to remember himself after a moment and gestured to the wine still standing untouched on the table.   
“Brought you some of the lighter stuff.” He made a face as if the sole notion of drinking something more watery than the strong liquor he preferred disgusted him to no end. “If you’re not inclined to rum, that is.” 

The ship creaked ominously, and Jack scowled at the hull fiercely, huffing.   
_“That_ wasn’t nice, darling. Not everyone likes rum.”   
“Thank you,” James said sincerely, deciding to ignore the last comment as a mad pirate’s rambling. He grabbed the bottle, then glanced around in search of some kind of a cup he could use. His antics must have amused Sparrow, for the man tilted his head back and grinned, hiccuping a little.   
“Are you always so proper, commodore James?” He chirped, and Norrington shrugged, uncorking the wine and taking a swing straight from the bottle. Jack’s smile was positively _delighted._

He pondered the question silently, helping himself to another slice of cheese and, after a bit of prompting, to some bread, too. Jack tore a chunk of it for himself as well, then contemplated his companion. Norrington was a handsome fellow, that much was clear, but what really got the captain captivated were those jade-green eyes, deep like the sea they were sailing on, holding many more mysteries than that infernal tattoo he had only gotten a shy glimpse of.

When James had been changing before, he had unfortunately - and to Jack’s great, albeit silent, lament - angled his body away in such a fashion that the ink had been hidden from Jack’s searching gaze. Oh, there had been plenty of the finest commodore flesh on display - milky and smooth except for a bit of scarring here and there, slight pinkish imperfections that spoke loudly of his life as an officer. There had been some bruising, too, naturally - after the Dauntless unexpected and abrupt end, it would have been surprising if the commodore had not sported a mark or two. The entirety of his right side was deep red, actually, well on its way to purpling nicely, and Jack imagined it had to be painful to move. But James had not even once made a sound or a grimace, changing his shirt first, then the breeches, stoically silent as if the navy had forbidden him from voicing any kind of a complaint. 

The further revealing of flesh hadn’t been as satisfactory as Jack had counted on, either, for while the shirt sleeves had been a bit short for Norrington’s arms, the tails of it had been long enough to cover most of his thighs, and all the captain had glimpsed were some well-defined muscles right above his knees, just before those, too, were covered by fabric. _Such a pity,_ Jack thought, taking a swing of his rum, staring at James. He looked younger without his wig, a lot more fiery with his dark hair all wild, mussed and free around his head… Watching him was a delight, especially when he chewed on the cheese absentmindedly, those high cheekbones becoming pronounced as his jaw worked. Jack could easily imagine how they would look hollowed out, while the commodore used some tactical sucking in very specific _boarding maneuvers…_

“My men,” James asked unexpectedly, a flash of concern crossing his face, and Jack felt indignation licking at his insides. He might be a pirate, but he was an honest man. He would even consider himself _good,_ especially going by his proclivity for helping others even when unasked.   
“Eh?” He inquired, tilting his head in challenge. Norrington blinked.   
“What will happen to them?” He went on, expression carefully blank. Jack shrugged.   
“They’re gonna sleep in the cannon deck, or in the orlop, under guard, if they misbehave,” he explained, seeing James’ surprised look. “What, you think I will put them all into the officer's quarters?”   
“No, I…” the commodore hesitated, then shook his head. “You have my thanks, captain. I thought you would lock them in the brig.”   
“Our brig is not big enough to hold over two dozen people,” Jack replied with a smirk. “Besides, they’ve done nothing wrong so far. A bit o’ teeth-chattering, however irritating, is not a crime. Well…” he trailed off, frowning. “Some of them glared at me crew for a bit in the beginning, but I guess now that their arses are dry and their bellies full, they have no other choice but to be nice and happy, so I have a deck full of puppies. Maybe some of them would even consider crossing the river, so to speak,” he added, raising his eyebrows. 

James shrugged. He couldn’t blame his men for their mellow state - they had been saved, after all. Death had a curious way of shifting one’s perspective. 

_Two dozen._ By god! Most of his crew was dead, then. What on earth had he _done?_ Men dead, the ship in pieces… Christ, he would be lucky to keep his commission in any capacity after that. He could kiss his admiralty goodbye, his current title as well, probably. And all of that didn’t matter, because men had died, his _friends._ People under his command and protection. His beloved Dauntless… 

Swallowing reflexively, James reached for the bottle again, taking a few long gulps. When he was done, he realized that Sparrow was still talking, muttering something about crossing a river.   
“...maybe even you could be persuaded, eh?” The pirate finished, cocking his head to the side like his namesake. Norrington blinked at him stupidly.   
“Excuse me?”   
“Oh, don’t play so hard to get, Commodore James.” Jack _tsked,_ raising one finger and pointing it at him. “I bet I could change your mind about pirates and commodores…” And he grinned, that toothy smile that showed all of his gold teeth. James frowned harder.   
“I have no idea what you’re implying, Sparrow.”   
_“Captain,”_ the man was quick to remind him, but the smile didn’t disappear. “Ah, let me speak plainly then. You and me… in me cabin, as it were… And you’re already wearing me clothes, mate. ‘Tis not a usual occurrence, is it?” 

Oh dear _lord…_ Was Jack _flirting_ with him? 

For a moment, James was mortified by how _not_ mortified he felt about that thought.   
“What say you?” Sparrow asked, leaning forward unexpectedly, and James jerked back on instinct, jostling his decidedly hurt ribs. Pain shot through his chest, and he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He had been able to ignore it so far, moving carefully and gritting his teeth, but now, shivering with every breath he took, he had to admit that some of his ribs must have at least been badly bruised. The pain would pass, he knew - it would pass soon enough and, since he didn’t have to pretend to be fine any longer because the proverbial milk had already been spilled, James let the grimace show on his face. 

If Sparrow was happy at his enemy’s misfortune, he didn’t show it, his expression very nearly one of concern.   
“Anything broken?” He asked, a lot softer than James expected him to, and he took a careful breath, assessing the damage.   
“I don’t think so,” he said finally, shaking his head. “Just a bruise.”   
“And a hell of a bruise it is,” the captain agreed, getting up. “Don’t you worry, ol’ Jack has something for that,” he muttered, going to one of the chests and rummaging through it. Various items clamoured inside, the noise so loud James had to suppress the urge to wince. Finally, with a triumphant shout, the captain rose swiftly, a tiny jar filled with white substance held firmly in one hand. He looked at it contemplatively, then turned his eyes to James, before he brought it over and settled it on the table between them. Curious, Norrington picked it up, uncorked it and took a cautious sniff. 

It _reeked._

There was a note of pine trees and some oriental flower, but no matter how nice that composition was, it was overpowered by the pungent stink of animal grease, strong enough to make his eyes water. He pulled it away and pushed the stopper back in, cringing, glancing back at a very amused Sparrow.   
“What? Don’t tell me your precious commodorish sensibilities are offended by a bit of eastern medicine, luv,” he drawled, laughing, then shook his head, sending the trinkets flying, jingling merrily.   
“This is beyond revolting,” James commented, shivering. The captain continued to chuckle.   
“It’s only bad in the beginning. T’ smell vanishes after a few minutes, only the sweet herbs remain. And it actually helps.” 

James eyed the jar again, his lips thinning. Jack knew he was tempted. It was clear enough that the ribs were paining him, and - since the good commodore seemed to finally accept that no harm would come to him on Jack’s ship if he didn’t bring it himself - he could actually let himself be helped. What’s more, it would present a great occasion to erm… _assist_ the officer, and Jack had never been one to let an opportunity go. He was a pirate, after all, he made his life and his name on opportunities and good timing. 

“I can even offer my services, should you require them,” the captain proposed, trying for his best winning smile. It had so far worked on every girl he had wished to woo, a few men, too, although Jack had found that most of the men preferred his _rascal smirk._ Commodore appeared to be immune to both, however, for he was back to his uncomprehending blinking.   
“Excuse me?” He asked, confused.   
“That bruise you’re sportin’,” Jack explained, waving his hand at Norrington’s side, rounding the table and coming closer. “It’s pretty large and it reaches all the way to here,” he demonstrated, skimming his fingers lightly over James’ back, right where he had seen the discoloration end earlier. “Might be a bit tricky to apply it yourself, eh?” 

James froze, suddenly stock-still in his chair. For a moment he didn’t seem to even _breathe._ And then… well, then he bolted upright, shot Jack a meaningful glare and stood, forcing the pirate captain to take a small step back just to avoid bumping into him. Oh Jack would _love_ to bump into the commodore, but not necessarily when the man looked like an angry bull ready to charge. The captain raised his hands up slightly, a soothing smile on his face. _Gold teeth would not win that one, it seemed._

“What are you doing, Sparrow?” James seethed, his beautiful green eyes narrowing dangerously.   
“If you can’t figure that one out, mate, I think you’re pretty thick,” Jack tilted his head, grinning, but the grin fell soon enough. James looked _furious._ _And rightfully so,_ Jack mused. He knew well that he deserved a punch after that last sentence. The Pearl creaked again, agreeing, and Jack frowned. She was being unduly short with him lately. 

Thankfully, Norrington was a man of words, not violence.  
“I can damn well see what you’re doing!”   
“A bit of a conundrum there, luv.”   
“I mean… why? To what ends? Do you mean to humiliate me? To go out there and crow about seducing the commodore into the collection of despicable people that shared your bed?”   
“Now hold up there, mate,” Jack protested indignantly, “I do not sleep with _despicable_ people, and I do not keep a _list…_ would be completely impractical, long as it would be.” The correction was made with a bit of fire in his eyes, and James reined a bit of his rage in. 

The Pearl’s captain looked genuinely offended. Maybe James had gotten it wrong? Maybe Sparrow was only flirting for the hell of it? Seeing as his usual modus operandi consisted of numerous silly things, that notion wouldn’t be too far from the realm of possibilities. Norrington scowled at him, while Jack continued.   
“Besides, do I need to have an ulterior motive to help you?”   
“You?” James scoffed. “Don’t you always?” He asked, incredulous. Jack grinned.   
“I hoped you knew me well enough to expect I have no less than seven of them at any given moment..”   
“And what may they be this time?” James inquired coldly, stepping forward, effectively getting into Jack’s face. He expected the pirate to move away, to show some sense of self-preservation and walk backwards, to stop _provoking_ him, at the very least… 

Quick as a snake, Jack’s hand moved forward, landing on Norrington’s hip. His _left_ hip, decidedly unbruised and unhurt. He traced his fingers up James’ side, finally placing his whole palm flat against the shirt-covered flesh, fingers splayed as wide as they would go.   
“I caught a glimpse of a very fine ink… forgive me curiosity, commodore.” 

Suddenly, James stumbled back, looking like a man slapped. He moved away until he couldn’t move anymore, his progress blocked by the chair. He stared at Jack, glaring daggers at him, his expression thunderous. The captain couldn’t really see what had caused such a reaction - out of all his comments on that day this one had to have been the mildest. As he watched, curiously speechless, Norrington’s anger turned into a full-blown fury. And, _dear gods of the seven seas,_ what a sight he was to behold! Dangerous, _deadly_ even, _aye!_ But so enticing! 

“So this is what you want?” James snarled, straightening up as something inside him seemingly snapped. “The final humiliation of your enemy? To rub salt into the wound you’ve just uncovered? Isn’t it enough you’ve seen it, now you have to prod it with your filthy, scrawny fingers?!” The man’s rage was only getting bigger with every word he spat out, and for the first time in his association with the commodore, Jack felt that he had misstepped dreadfully. He watched, wide-eyed, as Norrington started to tug the shirt up, untucking it from the breeches, pulling one side of it high with a mad expression on his face. His eyes sparkled like a wildfire, his mouth a grim line, and Jack hesitated, before he dragged his own gaze down, reluctantly taking in the tattoo decorating the commodore’s side. 

And oh… _oh._ Now he understood the rage. He understood it acutely. 

Black ink on milky-white skin, a perfect contrast for a perfect picture, moreso if the picture was that of a galleon, sails full of wind and a bone in her teeth. 

_The Dauntless._ Norrington’s first-rate gunner, the charming heavy lady that had just been sent to the fishes. All of a sudden, Jack didn’t feel like smiling at all, far from it. His own tattoos tingled on his skin, his heart giving a painful throb. He had lost his beloved Pearl before… more than once. He had gone to the depths for her, he had practically burned alive for his darling girl. If James felt even a chunk of such affection for his own ship, there was no way he wasn’t mourning her right now. 

“This is where you laugh, Sparrow,” Norrington said pointedly, clearly aiming for irony, but his tone was too shaky to come through as anything else than beaten. Jack looked back at him, taking in the set of his jaw and the tightly closed lips. Those jade eyes, the same that had been blazing hellfire at him just a few short moments before, were wet, and James averted his gaze after a few seconds, staring at something to his right. 

Slowly, carefully, Jack approached, extending one hand tentatively, touching just his fingertips to the inked beauty on his side. The lines were near perfection, the waves dark and menacing with the deep shadows used, and the captain couldn’t help but trace the shapes reverently. The simple contact seemed to crumble whatever was left of Norrington’s resolve, and he collapsed back into the chair, leaning forward and hiding his face in his palms, a sob wrecking his body. Jack went after him on instinct, kneeling in front of the chair, fingers once again tracing the lines of the tattoo. He could feel the shivers coursing through the commodore’s body, the barely-suppressed trembling he tried to hide unsuccessfully. 

“I loved that ship,” James mumbled from between his hands, taking a long breath. “I loved her from the first time I had seen her in London. I worked and fought my way to a promotion just so I could captain her…” He trailed off and sighed, lowering his hands. Jack took in the wet cheeks, furiously rubbed clean with a sleeve. “My men died upon her, chasing _you,_ and I can’t even _blame_ you for this, because I have seen with my own eyes the storm we had gotten into. I should have turned her around, should have done _something…”_

The captain pulled away a bit, grabbing the hem of his own shirt and tugging it up, then taking it off altogether. He angled himself a little to the side, letting Norrington’s curious gaze travel all over his tattooed chest and ribs, surprised eyes flickering from lines of text to ancient gods and goddesses he had depicted on him, until they finally settled on his right side, just where the last pair of ribs was.   
“Always have her with me, luv,” Jack commented, voice low, arching up and letting James trace one fascinated finger over the image. 

The portrait of his beloved Pearl had been with him from the beginning, when she had still been the Wicked Wench and he had been chosen as her captain by the crew. He had it done in the first port they had reached, his happiness bubbling out of him in waves. Later on, when he had lost her, the tattoo had been something he had clung to fiercely, a reminder of the greatest love of his life. 

“You’ll always have your lady with you, commodore,” he murmured, straightening up a little, biting his lip when Norrington’s questing fingers tickled his side. James pulled away, slumping back in the chair, rubbing one hand tiredly over his face. He looked beaten and hurting, and Jack decided to help, seeing the opportunity that presented itself. 

Unhurriedly, he shuffled even closer, effectively inserting himself between Norrington’s legs. A surprised look was his answer, as he ran both hands lazily over James’ thighs, up and down first, then higher still, until he encountered the buttons keeping the borrowed breeches closed. The commodore watched him silently, his gaze shocked to begin with, melting into something else entirely when Jack’s fingers worked the buttons open, pulling the fabric away.   
“Why?” James asked softly, and Jack smiled, a real smile, not one of his devil-may-care grins.   
“You’re fascinating and pretty, and I like fascinating and pretty things,” he answered in a whisper, diving down. 

Hot. _Wet._ James sucked in a careful breath that shivered through him like a squall, his hands curiously weak as he raised them to Jack’s head. The captain certainly knew what he was doing, James had to admit, his back arching when that agile tongue hit a particularly sweet spot. His fingers twisted in Jack’s hair, not tugging - the commodore was too much of a gentleman for that - just holding on, grounding. He clenched them reflexively when Jack sucked hard, and the pirate seemed to enjoy it immensely, redoubling his efforts, gazing up with fiery, dark eyes, hollowing his cheeks. 

James forced his eyes to remain open, shuddering through every lick and caress, taking the man in. Jack looked like the embodiment of sin, wrapped in fine, albeit worn out silk, with braided hair full of softly jingling trinkets and a mouth made for pleasure. Norrington had no illusions here - if the Devil himself had ever walked the earth, his face must have resembled Sparrow’s, enticing and mysterious, luring people in like a candle draws closer moths and flies. He let himself be caught, too, and with every passing moment, he regretted it less, a new need raising within him, quickly becoming too demanding to simply be ignored. 

With great effort, he grabbed hold of that fascinating mop of hair and tugged, pulling Jack away, provoking a surprised glance and an eyebrow raised in inquiry. His lips, wet and _oh so shiny,_ beckoned James to get a taste, and so he did, leaning in, bringing their mouths together for a kiss that was not gentle, nor sensible. If he had ever kissed a woman like that, James would have ended up with a lapful of grumbling, offended sensibilities. But here, now, Jack didn’t seem to mind it one bit, parting his lips eagerly and letting him plunder however he wished. 

The fact that Norrington could taste himself on Jack’s tongue wasn’t a shock as great as it should have been, bringing a surge of lust instead of disgust at kissing a pirate. And so, James moved forward, crawling out of his chair and into Sparrow’s lap, pushing them both to the wooden floor. Jack hummed happily, wriggling a bit when he felt two curious hands traveling over his bare sides, sliding over tattoos and scars alike. Norrington scraped his nails delicately over a long mark right above Jack’s hip, questions lurking between his fingertips and the knotted flesh. 

“A scimitar… a few years ago… in Bombay,” the captain answered, words muttered between kisses, and James drank them in, pressing him to the deck, both hands skimming lower until they could grab a hold of the buttons holding the man’s breeches closed. He tugged them open, dragged them down and off, then leaned back to take in his handiwork, his mouth opening on a shocked gasp. Jack’s legs were tattooed, too - lines of ancient text, a mermaid and a map covered his left thigh, while his right had some pagan inscriptions and symbols written on it, one of which looked like a very odd version of a compass rose. And between those exotically decorated legs… 

James’ mouth watered. He would have watched on, had it not been for a single, shivering inhale that brought his attention back to Jack and those curious, dark eyes staring at him enticingly. James smiled and ran one hand up the surprisingly untanned leg, delighted with wiry muscles tensing just under delicate skin. It was smooth - something almost unbelievable with the amount of ink it held, and he let himself repeat the movement, fascinated, until Jack hissed and jerked his knee to the side. That same leg was soon hooked behind Norrington’s hips, pulling him closer, until they were flush again, James’ breeches getting tangled somewhere between their thighs. 

The captain didn’t seem to mind, though, arching up against him, rubbing his whole body over Norrington’s like a cat in heat, and _dear god,_ the friction it created was so exquisite that James had to close his eyes and hide his face in Jack’s shoulder, muffling whatever noise tried to tear itself free from his throat. He jerked forward, pressing himself closer, moaning when a hand found its way to his arse and squeezed in encouragement.   
“There, there,” Jack soothed, his other hand busy squeezing between them, only to wrap around the both of them, the grip so tight it bordered on uncomfortable. _Bordered, but never crossed,_ and James found himself with his head thrown back, his mouth open, his lungs desperately trying to suck in more air as those clever fingers moved, traveling over their flesh quickly. 

In a moment of sudden clarity, he let his gaze focus on Jack, on the kohl smeared down his left cheek and his wild hair fallen in a tumbled mess on the floor. He gripped it, both hands tangling in braids and unruly locks, then hauled the pirate up for another kiss, drinking in the raspy groan that drifted between them. 

It didn’t take long after that, and soon, they were both sprawled on the floor, sated and sweaty, trying to regain a semblance of control over their breathing. Jack had been the first to recover, which resulted in a wet rag landing on James’ stomach.   
“Don’t want me family jewels permanently stuck to the Navy… ‘s bad business, mate, no offense,” the captain muttered, but there was a smirk hiding underneath that moustache, so Norrington smiled back and gave himself a lazy swipe, after which he decided to discard the tangled mess of the breeches still stuck somewhere down his legs. It had seemingly been some kind of a test - and one he had passed - for it afforded him an invitation to the luxurious bed at the end of the cabin. He had surprised himself when he didn’t refuse and let himself be tugged upwards from the floor, a rather wobbly-legged pirate pulling him along, then pushing him down between fluffy pillows. The sheets were luxurious, the blankets thick, and James couldn’t help himself when he settled down and closed his eyes, a content sigh escaping him. In a matter of seconds, there was a warm body wriggling into the space next to him, a shockingly gentle arm sneaking around his waist. 

“I didn’t take you for a cuddler,” he observed, somehow amused by the situation. The rocky emotional ride he had been subjected to in the last few hours must have taken its toll on him, for he wasn’t even slightly inclined to detach himself.   
“How dare you accuse me of such atrocity?” Jack protested indignantly, tightening his arm while carefully avoiding Norrington’s bruised side. It made James snort, which brought on two eyes narrowing at him dangerously. Biting his lip, the commodore reined in his merriment, telling his brain to shove it when it started to scream at him about fraternizing with the enemy. 

_Jack had saved him, hadn’t he?_ It made him… _not_ an enemy. For the foreseeable future. 

“What now?” He asked quietly, and the captain shrugged, plopping back down on the bed with a huff.   
“Now we sleep,” he mumbled into the pillow, his lips close enough to James’ shoulder that he could feel the movement. “‘M bloody tired.”   
“And then?” He prodded, earning a half-shrug and a dismissive grunt.   
“We go to Tripoli,” Jack answered after a longer moment. “We need provisions and some repairs after that storm. We can leave you lot there, if you want,” he proposed, and James tensed, imagining the wait for help that would surely follow, probably months spent in idleness until their Navy finally showed up. 

The hand on him moved, traveling lower, settling over the tattoo on his side, fingers stroking softly.   
“Or we can take you with us,” Jack mused in a sleepy voice. “If your men know how to behave, that is,” he said pointedly, and James found himself nodding.   
“They will… I think they all realize that we are at your mercy here, Captain Sparrow.”   
“At me mercy… I like that,” the captain in question mumbled, giving a sigh. “We could dump you on some island near Port Royal… your toy Navy could pick you from there…” His voice trailed off, and James was left wondering if Jack would really do it. 

In the end, the Pearl made berth in a small port about two miles from Port Royal, her captain sending them all off with a wave. James grinned, then reminded himself of where he was and turned to his men, ordering a brisk march back to Fort Charles. He had no illusions he would meet up with Sparrow again - he could only hope the tattoos would be involved this time, too. 


End file.
